A Bad Day
by inkstainedfingers97
Summary: Upon reflection, Lisbon determined the moment her day had really started to go to hell was when Jane decided to hold her hand.


Upon reflection, Lisbon determined the moment her day had really started to go to hell was when Jane decided to hold her hand.

Of course, being Jane, he'd given her no warning. One minute, they were walking towards a suspect on a footpath on the ridiculously lush grounds of the private school where the victim of their latest case had worked, Lisbon running through her interrogation strategy in her mind as they approached the suspect. The next minute, Jane was introducing her as his wife and taking her hand in his.

There went her interrogation strategy.

Jane started chattering away happily about their fictional but precocious child and what a supportive environment she needed, and as the principal, did the suspect think she would be able to get along with the other students at the school? Sometimes she had difficulty making friends her own age because she was so far ahead of them academically.

The principal was beaming at them and assuring them that the school accepted only the most academically gifted students, and he was sure their daughter would find herself at home amongst her peers as well as being challenged by the curriculum. His eager expression was almost cartoonish- Lisbon could practically see the little dollar signs in the man's mind's eye as he addressed Jane and his tailored suit. Good thing he wasn't paying attention to her JC Penney blazer, Lisbon thought, suppressing a snort. Of course, by that point, there was really no choice but to go along with the whole thing.

It wasn't like this was the first time Jane had done something like this to her. She should have expected it. But every time he did, he managed to catch her flat-footed. Normally she managed to roll with it after a moment. After all, all she really had to do most of the time was cover her initial deer in the headlights expression, paste a smile on her face, and let Jane do the talking. Ostensibly, that was all she needed to do now. But truthfully, he'd thrown her with the handholding thing.

It shouldn't have bothered her. Jane touched her all the time—a hand on her arm, her shoulder, at the small of her back—and she never thought anything much of it. He was a control freak, and it was one of his habits to manipulate her through touch; drawing her attention to something he wanted her to see, guiding her towards something he wanted to pursue. As long as she remembered that, she was fine-safe. She remembered finding it irritating when he first did it—naturally he'd started invading her personal space within the first two minutes after they'd met. At the time she'd had to restrain herself from flinching and possibly giving him a slug in the gut for his trouble. She'd managed not to do either of those things. What she had done instead was firmly tell herself to hold her ground with this guy because if there was ever a case of giving a person and inch and him taking a mile, this guy was it. Boy, had she ever been right about that.

But over time she'd realized two things. The first thing was that Jane worked so hard to manipulate people because in his mind, the old sports adage held true: the best defense is a good offense. If he maniacally controlled every aspect of the situation, no one would have a chance to notice how messed up he was and force him to deal with the issues he so masterfully avoided in the presence of other members of the human race. So he sat too close, looked too long, and touched too much, keeping people on their guard around him to the extent that most people never even looked close enough to notice his most glaring weaknesses.

And the second thing was… well, even Jane was human. He needed human touch just as much as the next person to keep him grounded, connected to humanity. For good or ill, it seemed he'd decided his connection was going to be to her.

She didn't mind. She could handle Jane. He needed someone tough enough to stand up to him, who wouldn't automatically bend to his will in every situation. She fought him tooth and nail for every shred of control in their relationship, but even though she definitely came up on the short end on the number of matches won and lost, the important thing was that she fought the good fight.

The problem was, she was human too. It had started to seem normal that Jane's hand found its way to the small of her back more often than not, that he laid his hand on her shoulder or touched her arm five or ten times a day. In all honesty, Jane touched her more often than anyone else on earth. It was a sad statement about her personal life, but true. Probably because she kept most people at arm's length, and Jane never waited for permission to do anything, least of all invade her personal space. Literally, if she stuck her hand out to stop him approaching her, he'd probably just poke her in the ribs. But damn if she would ever admit to him a part of her was a tiny bit grateful for his refusal to wait for permission and willingness to blatantly ignore her efforts to keep boundaries between them. Lord help her, but she'd actually started to find his efforts to herd her around *comforting.* She really needed to get out more.

But this handholding thing wasn't like that. It was one thing to put up with his touchy feely ways when it was easier to just go along with it than fight it. It wasn't like she initiated any of that stuff. Handholding, on the other hand, seemed much more… intimate. Even though he'd started it, it did involve a certain amount of active acceptance and participation on her part. She'd let him twine his fingers through hers, and she could hardly help hers weaving through his in turn.

She tried to remember the last time she had held hands with someone and failed. Truth be told, she wasn't exactly the handholding type. She was more of the 'thanks for the quick lay and don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out' type. But as she felt Jane's warm hand clasped in hers, she grudgingly admitted to herself she was starting to see the appeal.

Now she thought of it, the closest she'd been to handholding in recent memory had been when Jane had asked her to dance at that high school reunion where they'd been investigating a case. He'd led her onto the dance floor by the hand and kept her hand in his as he pulled her close. She'd indulged in a rare moment of weakness, or possibly insanity, and for once had decided not to worry about what Jane might do next and just let him pull her close. After all, she did love that song. And Jane was a good dancer. For that one moment, she'd decided to hell with it and just relaxed with him, letting her head rest on his shoulder and dancing so close to him she could feel the steady thump thump of his heart beating against her own chest. And he'd kept her hand in his the whole time.

She realized with a sinking feeling in her stomach that the fact that the most recent handholding experiences in her memory involved Jane, and worse yet, that she'd *enjoyed* them, almost certainly meant something very bad for her long term peace of mind, or at the very least, her sanity.

It wasn't helping that it was a beautiful day outside. They were surrounded by green grass, magnificent trees, and a gloriously blue sky. It was the kind of day that encouraged you to let go of your cares and worries and just enjoy the warm sunshine and cool breeze. Jane was running his thumb over the back of her hand, and it felt good. Better than she would have imagined, if such a thing had ever occurred to her.

And because the sun was warming her back and Jane's fingers were warm against hers, she was too busy thinking about holding Jane's hand to notice that their suspect had an accomplice until he leapt out from behind a tree and took a swing at Jane's kneecaps with the shovel in his hands.

Jane released her hand with a cry of pain and fell to the ground. Lisbon had barely processed what had just happened when she realized the man was pulling back for a second swing. She moved to grab his arm before he brought the shovel down on Jane's head, and he turned on her instead, moving too quickly for her to react. She brought her arm up to defend herself at the last moment and the shovel stopped its progress towards her skull with a sickening crack as it met the bones of her forearm.

Jesus, God save her from stupid criminals. Why the hell would anyone attack two members of a law enforcement agency in broad daylight with a shovel, of all things? And why would they attack the unarmed one first? The shovel wielder was gearing up for another turn at bat, and the principal was standing to the side, wringing his hands. Idiots.

A shovel, seriously? If she stepped back, the shovel guy would hit Jane again. If she stayed where she was, he'd swing again, and probably hit home this time and fracture her skull. There was only one thing for it. She set her jaw in grim determination, and tackled the guy. When someone has a long handled weapon and you can't reach your gun in time to end the possibility of a physical altercation, the only way to even the odds is to get close enough to the guy that he loses any advantage of leverage the weapon gives him. She'd gotten a C in high school physics, and even she knew that. This guy obviously wasn't much of a prize in the brains department.

The guy's eyes widened as she launched herself at him. It was ridiculous how men thought that just because she was small, she was destined to lose in a physical match up. But no, they never stopped to think that while a hundred and ten pounds probably isn't going to come out too well against a blitz from a Bears linebacker, a hundred and ten pounds of anything launching itself at a fool standing flatfooted with a shovel in his hand is still going to make a hell of an impact. The trick was to get momentum on your side.

It hurt like hell, of course. The pain in her arm was nearly blinding, and the impact seemed to rattle her whole skeleton as she knocked him to the ground. Oof. The guy was 220 if he was an ounce, and her back was going to hurt like a son of a bitch tomorrow. Right now, though, the pain in her arm masked the full extent of the damage. He landed a wild punch on her cheek before she managed to roll him over to his stomach and pin his arm behind his back. She somehow managed to cuff the bastard with her one good arm while ordering Jane to get the gun from the holster on her left hip to hold it on the principal, who looked like he was considering making a run for it, but couldn't muster up the gumption to make a decision. How a person so spineless could commit to a task as fraught with risk as murder was beyond her. Jane gingerly removed the gun from her holster as asked and aimed it vaguely in the direction of the suspect, looking like he had an alien appendage at the end of his arm, but it did the trick. She moved to stand, but nearly blacked out from the pain, so she instructed Jane to call for backup, and did the only thing she could: she sat down on the middle of the suspect's back to keep him from trying to escape and waited for help to arrive.

She became vaguely aware of Jane's voice talking to her, his voice concerned, and then an edge of panic creeping into his voice when she didn't respond at first. "'m fine, Jane," she grumbled. "Don't fuss."

"You most certainly are not fine," he returned. There was more, but she went back to ignoring him and concentrating on not vomiting from the pain.

It was hardly the most dignified way to make a bust. In fact, it was more than a little humiliating to have her team find her sitting on the perp, green at the gills and cradling her arm against her side like it was a wounded animal. When Rigsby and Van Pelt arrived, she allowed Rigsby to help her up, nearly losing her lunch again.

Rigsby looked at her anxiously. "You ok, boss?"

"She has a broken arm," Jane answered for her. His voice was straining to achieve his usual careless, unaffected tone, but it came out tense. Huh. That was weird.

"Maybe we should take you to the doctor," Rigsby said worriedly.

"She needs to go to the hospital right away," Jane said firmly.

Lisbon recoiled. She hated hospitals. "That's not necessary. I'll take some Advil and see how it feels in the morning."

"Advil isn't going to cut it, my dear," Jane said. "You need the good stuff. And you know where you need to go to get the good stuff? The hospital."

She thought she'd just about convinced Rigsby that Jane was overreacting, but when Jane climbed into the driver's seat of the CBI vehicle after he'd settled her into the passenger seat and insisted on buckling her seat belt for her like she was a four year old, it was clear Jane had gotten to him.

"What'd you have to give him?" she asked resignedly.

"What?" Jane said distractedly.

His eyes were focused on the road. She closed her eyes. She hated the way he drove. Too fast.

"Rigsby. What'd you have to give him to convince him to let you take me to the hospital?"

Jane glanced over at her. "I didn't have to give him anything. I told him you needed to go to the hospital and you were obviously going to be stubborn about it, so he might as well let me drive."

"How are he and Van Pelt going to get back?"

"They sent the murderers back in the squad car and they're taking my car back to headquarters."

Her eyes opened. "You're letting Rigsby drive your car?"

"Yeah, so?"

"You never let anyone drive that car."

He fidgeted in a very un-Jane like way. "It's just a car, Lisbon."

There seemed to be something happening somewhere behind his words that she couldn't quite grasp, but she decided her arm hurt too much to worry about it.

Jane insisted on coming inside the hospital with her, spouting some nonsense about her being liable to lie to the doctor to make it seem like her injury wasn't so bad as it really was.

Naturally, he was insufferable when they got inside. His hand fluttered from the small of her back to her shoulder to her good arm and back again as he shepherded her towards the triage area, hovering like nobody's business. He bullied the nurse into making the doctor see her right away, even though the waiting room was far from empty and she was perfectly capable of waiting her turn. He oriented himself protectively around her injured arm as they walked down the hall, shielding it from any passersby who might have accidentally bumped it, and being very careful not to jostle it himself. Then he announced to the doctor that she had a serious fracture in her arm and probably had a concussion before the woman had made it two steps inside the door. He didn't let her respond before demanding how quickly Lisbon could be given some high quality pharmaceutical assistance in relieving the pain and suggesting the doctor give her the strongest sedatives possible. Like she said: insufferable.

She exacted her revenge, however, by insisting Jane get checked out himself, as he had also been struck by a shovel wielding maniac.

Unfortunately, once the doctor pronounced Jane bruised, but not in need of further medical treatment, Jane took that as an indication that he was free to refocus all of his attention on her own medical situation. He started arguing with the doctor about how best to handle her treatment. According to Jane, it was no good prescribing her a mild painkiller and letting her leave because she wouldn't take anything else the moment the doctor let her out of the hospital. Better to sedate her and keep her here as long as possible so she would be forced to at least get some rest.

Lisbon tuned them out after it became evident that neither of them were the least bit interested in hearing her opinion on the matter.

God, how could she have been so stupid? Jane had been convinced the principal was guilty, and it hadn't even occurred to her he might have had an accomplice, much less one dumb enough to assault state agents with a garden implement. She'd been skeptical about the principal's guilt, but since Jane's seemingly bizarre theories had the irritating quality of almost always being right, she'd agreed to drive out to the school with him to question the man. Jane and Lisbon had spent the previous afternoon talking to the victim's husband and neighbors while Rigsby and Van Pelt were checking out the school where she worked. Rigsby and Van Pelt had spoken to the other man—the shovel wielder—in passing. They'd asked him a few basic questions, run of the mill, procedural questions, but they hadn't thought much of him at the time. And definitely had not picked up on any kind of connection between him and the principal, other than the fact they both worked at the school. Of course, it was only the second day of the case. They'd just started their normal background research and hadn't turned anything of significance up yet. Lisbon herself hadn't expected to find anything concrete on any of the suspects for at least another couple of days. So she'd figured what the hell, she'd go with Jane to rattle the principal's cage, see what happened, despite having no evidence whatsoever implicating him in the whole thing. And then she'd let herself get so distracted by Jane holding her hand that she wasn't paying enough attention to her surroundings to let possibly one of the dumbest criminals she'd ever encountered get the drop on her, hurt Jane, and nearly crush her arm.

Apparently, she wasn't much of a prize in the brains department, either.

She sat stoically through the process of having her arm examined and endured a shot of something that made her head feel fuzzy and her body feel oddly weightless. It turned out she might have done better to pay attention to a few things in Jane's conversation with the doctor, because when she woke up, the pain had receded to a dull ache and she found herself sporting a neon pink cast on her arm, emblazoned with a familiar scrawling signature that took up pretty much the whole cast.

Sometimes she really hated Jane.

The man in question was sitting by her bedside, playing a game of Sudoku.

"What are you still doing here?" she asked him in surprise.

He looked up. "Playing a relaxing mind puzzle," he said mildly.

"I don't need a babysitter, Jane," she said grumpily.

"I'm not here to babysit you. I'm here to keep you company."

"Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"Because you hate hospitals and I thought you would benefit from the presence of a friendly face." There didn't seem to be any trace of a con in his voice. Of course, when he appeared to be sincere was generally when she should be most suspicious of him.

Lisbon shifted in her bed. "I don't hate hospitals."

"Of course you do. Everybody hates hospitals. But it's worse for you."

"What makes you say that?"

"Merely being inside a hospital puts you into a heightened state of anxiety because you associate being in the hospital with the moment of your most profound loss," he explained. "You were at the hospital when you found out your mother died, weren't you?"

She looked away, but her good hand found its way to the cross around her neck before it occurred to her what an obvious tell that would be to Jane. Not that it mattered. She never could hide anything from him, anyway. She let go of the necklace and cleared her throat. "So, how long before I can get out of here, anyway?"

"I think they want to keep you overnight for observation."

"What? No way. Who the hell stays in the hospital overnight for a broken arm?"

"You also have a concussion," he reminded her.

She touched her face where the shovel guy had landed a punch high on her cheekbone. Damn. She'd forgotten about that, although it did explain the headache she had.

"Don't worry, Lisbon, the bruise doesn't detract from your looks," Jane assured her. "In fact, its presence emphasizes your exquisite cheekbones."

Her face flamed. "I wasn't thinking about that."

"I believe you. You really display a surprising lack of vanity for such a lovely woman. I suppose your brothers and father didn't put much of a premium on beauty when you were growing up. You were probably just thinking that you'd forgotten being punched by a two hundred and twenty pound man, but that explained the headache you have."

She scowled. "I hate when you do that."

"Do what?"

"Carry on both sides of a conversation by yourself. Can't you just have a normal conversation for once?"

"My dear Lisbon, I would be happy to hold what you call a normal conversation if only people didn't insist on ignoring the most important parts of the conversation. The problem with what you call normal conversation is that most people refuse to acknowledge the parts of the conversation most worthy of discussion. You, for example, dislike talking about yourself. Trying to get you to talk about emotional matters of your own volition is like pulling teeth, so it really just saves us both a lot of time and energy if I let you know that I'm already aware of what you're trying to conceal. What's more, you like that about me."

At Lisbon's strangled protest, he continued. "You despise small talk and you appreciate that you and I never have useless conversations that don't really matter. Every conversation that you and I have ever had has included an exchange of information valuable to one or both of us. It's just that sometimes you need a little prodding to get to the good stuff, so I fill in the blanks when you refuse to provide them."

"And here I thought you just liked the sound of your own voice," she commented wryly.

"On the contrary, I've grown quite fond of the particular pitch of your voice when you are in the midst of scolding me about something that has helped us solve a case."

The doctor came in then and Lisbon abandoned her scowl to ask when she could leave. She managed to convince the doctor to release her despite the woman's obvious reluctance and Jane's vocal protests. But as she was in control of her mental faculties, they really couldn't keep her there against her will, so she checked herself out and headed back to work.

Jane did not approve. He tried to get her to go home, but Cho called and told her Hightower wanted to see her, so he pretty much had no chance of winning that argument at that point.

Hightower was not happy. She rubbed her jaw while she reamed Lisbon out for fifteen minutes about how irresponsible she'd been in trying to take out two suspects without any backup but Jane, and informed her crisply that this incident would most certainly be going into her file, and if Lisbon couldn't control Jane any better, so help her she was going to—

Jane himself appeared at that moment, effectively making Hightower's point. Hightower looked at Lisbon pointedly as Jane barged into her office without knocking. Lisbon tried to look unaffected by this, even though in fact she was pissed as hell. She'd told Rigsby to cuff the man to the couch if that was what was needed to keep him from interrupting this meeting, but had he done that? No. Jane had probably distracted him with snacks or Van Pelt and been off and running before Rigsby had known what was happening. She should have cuffed Jane to the couch herself.

"Pardon me for interrupting," Jane said.

"Jane, you were not invited to this meeting," Hightower said bluntly. "Please leave."

"Ah, but I can't do that," he said.

Hightower crossed her arms over her chest. "Why the hell not?"

"Because, dear Madeleine, if I left, I would not be able to point out to you that you're being unreasonably hard on Lisbon right now because you had a less than pleasant dentist appointment this morning and your back right molar has been giving you pain all day as a result of it. It's hardly unexpected that you might feel a bit short tempered with that kind of pain nagging at the back of your mind all day, but it is clouding your own powers of observation to the extent that you haven't noticed that Lisbon here has a concussion and should really be at home in bed rather than being yelled at by her boss."

Hightower's jaw dropped and she turned to Lisbon. "You have a concussion?"

"A mild one," Lisbon admitted.

"What the hell are you doing back at the office?" Hightower exploded. "Do you know how much trouble I could get in with the legal department if I allow an agent under my supervision to work without proper medical clearance after being injured on the job?"

Lisbon winced. "It's really no big deal."

Jane walked to Hightower's desk and opened the top right drawer. "Actually, she left the hospital against medical advice and is probably in quite a bit of pain, but she's doing her best to hide it from everyone." He took a bottle of pills out of the drawer and handed them to Hightower. "Here, take two of these. You'll feel much better."

Hightower looked like she wanted to kill him, but she took the pills.

Jane jammed his hands into his jacket pockets. "Incidentally, you really shouldn't be yelling at Lisbon. She did nothing wrong. It was my fault the second man attacked us with a shovel. It was supposed to be a routine questioning, nothing that required backup. How was she supposed to know the man was going to jump out from behind a tree with a shovel? It's completely ludicrous. I believe the whole situation can be effectively summed up by referencing a charming colloquialism I've heard people use on various occasions. I believe the term is: 'shit happens.' It was unlucky, pure and simple. Fortunately for me, Lisbon's character is forged from the type of foolhardy bravery that prompts her to tackle someone over twice her size after he's just broken her arm with a shovel, or we'd both probably be dead or at least badly beaten. In fact, you should be commending her rather than berating her." He fixed Hightower with a charming smile. "I'm sure you'll see that, once those pain meds have kicked in."

There was a long silence and then Hightower said, a bit stiffly, "You may have a point, Patrick. Perhaps I was a bit hasty." She cleared her throat. "You're dismissed, Teresa. But next time you have a head injury, please let me know."

"Thank you, ma'am," Lisbon said. She and Jane took their leave of Hightower with as much dignity as possible, but Lisbon hit Jane on the arm with her good hand as soon as they were out of sight of her office.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"You know very well what that was for. I can't have you undermining me like that in front of Hightower."

"I wasn't undermining you. I was trying to help."

"Well, don't," Lisbon said shortly. "It's not helpful when you demonstrate your unwillingness to listen to me in front of my boss."

"You're overreacting. I pointed out something she needed to hear."

Lisbon rubbed her temple as they approached her office. "Jane, I appreciate that you're trying to help, and there's something almost… sweet about what you're trying to do, but… please, for once in your life, *butt out.*"

Jane stopped in front of the door to her office. "I'll make you a deal. I will leave you alone for as long as it takes you to figure out that there is no useful paperwork you can do with a headache and only one good arm, and then you have to let me take you home and put you to bed."

She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, woman, you know what I mean."

She'd been taken in by him one too many times to fall for that approach again, however. She smirked. "I didn't say anything."

"Do you accept the terms of my bargain or not?"

She thought about it, sensing a trap, but as she couldn't spot any hole in the proposal for him to wiggle his way through, she agreed.

Jane retired to his couch, and she went into her office, breathing a sigh of relief. Of course, once she'd been in there about five minutes, she realized he'd been right. Her head was killing her, and there was no way she could type with one arm in this ridiculous cast. She read three reports on her desk and then for lack of anything better to do, checked the sports scores for her favorite teams online.

Van Pelt came in and brought a stack of forms that needed her signature, which Lisbon fell upon with unprecedented enthusiasm. And Jane thought she couldn't find anything useful to do on her own. "Thanks, Van Pelt," she said to the other woman.

"No problem. Jane said I should bring them to you so you'd have something to do with one hand."

Damn him. She signed the papers, which took all of five minutes, and then she played Solitaire for twenty minutes just to spite him.

Jane came in then, his jacket over his arm. "Ready to go?"

Lisbon didn't take her eyes off the screen. "Let me just finish this up."

"Really, Lisbon? I didn't think you would stoop so low."

She glanced up at him. "What?"

"Playing Solitaire to pretend to work? Is the thought of going home to rest and relax so awful?"

She switched off her computer and picked up her jacket. There was no point in lying. "Fooled you for twenty minutes, didn't I?"

"Of course not, I just thought you needed a break from me." He flashed a grin. "Break's over, though."

That gave her pause. Jane recognizing how exhausting he was and purposefully giving her a few moments where she didn't have to defend herself constantly against him? She really was having an off day if he thought such extreme measures were necessary. Still, that was oddly thoughtful of him. "All right, let's go."

Jane drove her home, but he insisted on making a stop on the way back to her apartment, explained by the aroma of Thai food coming from two plastic bags he returned with.

She hadn't planned on inviting him in, but since Jane had bought the food, it seemed churlish not to share.

They ate in companionable silence and Lisbon's mind wandered.

The principal had folded like a cheap card table after two minutes with Cho and made a full confession. He had been working with the math teacher to rip off the school for thousands of dollars a month. The principal had been skimming off the top of the hefty tuition fees for years with no one the wiser, but the shovel bearing math teacher (whose name was actually Jacobson) had figured out what he was doing and threatened to turn him in if he didn't throw a little of the profit his way. But he wasn't content with the small sums the principal had been liberating from the school coffers. He'd insisted on upping the ante. The principal had protested, saying that would only make it more likely that someone would notice what they were up to, but he'd knuckled under Jacobson's more dominant personality and gone along with the new plan.

Of course, the principal had been right. Amanda Sanders, the principal's administrative assistant had noticed a shortfall in the books and confronted him about it. He'd stalled her and told Jacobson about the situation, hoping the other man would have some idea about what to do. Jacobson had lost it. He'd convinced the man their lives would be ruined if she blabbed and persuaded him to call Ms. Sanders and tell her to meet him at the edge of the school grounds, which bordered a state park. When she showed up, Jacobson bludgeoned her over the head with a tire iron and then enlisted the fretful administrator's help loading her into the trunk of the car and dumping her body in the middle of the park.

Lisbon's mind ran over the course of events. The question was, how had such clearly inexperienced criminals gotten the drop on her?

The truth was that when Jane decided to pull the whole undercover bit, she'd mentally checked out for a moment. She was no good at pretending to be someone else. Jane, on the other hand, was in his element in these types of situations, so she'd let him take over.

Was she becoming too quick to cede control to Jane? She felt like she spent most of her waking hours battling him for control over one thing or another, but if she was honest with herself, she had to admit that occasionally she felt a sense of relief in letting him take the reins and direct the team in the execution of one of his crazy schemes. Sure, most of the time it was annoying as hell and created mess after mess for her to clean up, but every so often it was nice to share leadership in that way, to know if they hit a dead end and she had no clue what to do next, she could almost always count on Jane to come to her with a light in his eye and the words 'I have a plan' on his lips. Besides, one thing she'd learned from Jane was that you had to take risks if you wanted a chance at the big payoff.

No, she decided. Infuriating as the man could be, she knew she and Jane balanced each other out. Her tact and methodical approach provided a much needed counterpoint to his tendency to provoke everyone he met. He needed her to rein him in from time to time, and he had no patience for the administrative details which he called tedious drudgery but were nonetheless necessary to keep the unit running smoothly. Besides, as often as she let Jane proceed with his outlandish ideas (and even when he did so against her express orders), she was confident that the team respected her as a leader and looked to her for guidance when the going got rough, even Jane.

The problem wasn't that she'd given up control. The problem was that she'd lost focus. Over *handholding,* for God's sake. What was she, fourteen years old? Her mind flashed on the sensation of Jane's warm fingers intertwined with hers. She didn't remember feeling like that when she was a teenager. Of course, then she'd been holding hands with Jimmy Peterson, and his hand had been sweaty. Patrick Jane, on the other hand, never sweated. He'd probably be cool and at ease while sitting next to a hell fire, his elegant hands balancing teacup and saucer as he sipped tea and chatted with the devil.

He really did have lovely hands.

"How'd you know the principal was involved?" she asked Jane abruptly, shoving thoughts of Jane's hands out of her mind. "We hadn't even met him yet."

Jane raised one eyebrow. "Well, the victim was wearing a cameo necklace," he said, as though this explained everything.

"A cameo necklace?" Lisbon repeated.

"Yes, you know, those pendants with the silhouette of a young woman's face? I believe they are most commonly associated with the Victorian era, though the particular technique of carving dates back to ancient times."

Lisbon waited, but when no further explanation was forthcoming, she was forced to prompt him. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"A person who wears a cameo necklace is obviously very romantic. Not just hearts and flowers romantic, though she'd be likely to be a bit old-fashioned in that way, too, but romantic in the sense that she would have cherished old-fashioned virtues- loyalty, honesty, chivalry. She would have had a strict sense of honor, but also a deeply sentimental streak. She would have been utterly devoted to friends and loved ones, so it's unlikely she would have had many enemies in her personal life. Her husband confirmed this when we spoke to him. That leaves work. She was the principal's assistant and would have been intimately acquainted with his affairs, so it seemed obvious she had caught him doing something he shouldn't have been doing and then he lost it and killed her."

"What about Jacobson?"

Jane waved his fork dismissively. "Complete sociopath. He's been waiting his whole life for an opportunity to play out his sadistic fantasies. Unluckily for our victim, he finally spotted his chance."

"Why do you think he attacked us like that?" Lisbon wondered. "We had no idea he was involved. If he'd played it cool, we might not have been able to get any evidence to tie him to any of it."

"Two words: panic, and stupidity. He must have thought we were a lot closer to cracking it than we actually were. Classic case of the tell tale heart, really. He probably saw cops digging for details with his not so reliable partner in crime and freaked. Figured it was only a matter of time before the principal broke and pointed a finger at him. Once he'd done violence once, it would have been easier for him to follow his natural instincts to use brutality to solve his problems."

"But how'd he know we were cops? Rigsby and Van Pelt were the ones who talked to him yesterday."

Jane coughed delicately. "Ah, I'm afraid that is your fault, my dear."

"How is that my fault?" Lisbon demanded, outraged.

"I've told you before. To anyone with even the most rudimentary powers of observation, it is painfully obvious you're a cop."

"I don't see why. My badge and gun were under my jacket."

"Let me put it this way. You're the only woman I've ever met who practically stands at attention while holding hands with someone. I grant you, you did start to loosen up there eventually, but by that time, the shovel wielder had already spotted you for what you are and deemed me a cop by association."

"That's ridiculous. I don't stand any particular way when holding hands with someone," Lisbon said, thinking that if she'd actually been standing at attention, or been paying any, she would have seen the lunatic skulking by the tree and been able to draw her gun before he'd been able to get within shovel-wielding range.

"Please. Your militaristic posture is probably some kind of unconscious self defense mechanism meant to deter men from taking the liberty of initiating such an intimate physical connection with you, however innocent it may seem. Which is a shame, because you're really quite good at it."

"Oh, it is not—" she broke off. "Good at what?"

"Handholding, of course."

She snorted. "Yeah, right. It's not exactly brain surgery, Jane."

"No. Brain surgery is a science. Handholding is much more of an art. And you, my dear, are a natural. Like Mozart. Untaught- the talent is simply innate."

Lisbon was reasonably certain he was making fun of her somehow, but his voice held no trace of mockery and she couldn't think of a way to call him out on it without prolonging the discussion of handholding, which she'd prefer to avoid. "Uh. Thanks, I guess."

He surveyed her in the way that she knew meant he was about to reveal something she'd just have soon have remained unnoticed.

"You know, it's really quite endearing the way you can't take a compliment without blushing."

"Oh, shut up, Jane," she said irritably, her face predictably growing an even deeper shade of red.

Jane, of course, was undeterred. He pointed at her. "I know what you're thinking."

"Spare me," Lisbon muttered, knowing those words never boded well for the person on the receiving end of them.

"You're blaming yourself for letting that man attack us with a shovel. You think that if you hadn't been distracted by thinking about what a child between you and I would look like, you would have seen the guy behind the tree and been able to stop him before he got close enough to hit us."

"I—what? No, I wasn't," Lisbon said, startled and feeling thoroughly relieved that Jane was wrong for once.

"Oh, come on, you had to have thought about it."

"Why? You had all the details in hand and didn't seem to need my help to convince the principal to admit a figment of your imagination into a prestigious private school."

"I mean, you had to have idly mused over the idea of what a child between you and I would be like at some point."

"Well, I never have," Lisbon said truthfully.

He squinted at her. "Why not?"

Lisbon was at a loss. How could she tell him she didn't think of him in that way? Although what way, exactly, she didn't think of him as, she wasn't entirely sure. As the father of her children, she supposed. Yes, she found him appealing and attractive and all those things you're supposed to feel about a person you imagine having children with. The problem was, she also found him annoying, infuriating, irritatingly smug, and above all, just *exhausting.* Not to mention unavailable. She knew he still thought of himself as married, and so she'd come to think of him that way, too. She couldn't imagine him moving on and building a new family when he was still so blind to anything outside the old one. So she'd put certain kinds of thoughts about Jane in a box in her mind a long time ago marked with big red letters saying 'Do not open.' She cared about him, worried about him, even loved him, in a way, but she didn't imagine a future with him. She could imagine them losing themselves in each other for a few nights or a few months, but somehow, she never could imagine a happy ending. The story always ended before they got to the part about white picket fences and babies. Neither she or Jane believed in happily ever after, so what was the point? It would only make things more complicated and painful for both of them if they ever did go down that path. Better to carry on as they were: close, but not irrevocably bound to one another in that way. A small voice tried to tell her the ship may very well have sailed on that one, but she ruthlessly shoved it aside and concentrated on Jane.

"Jane, people who work together don't think about what it would be like to have children together," Lisbon said finally. "Couples do that. You and I are not a couple. For this, and many other reasons, I can't say I have spent any time thinking about our fictional child."

Jane frowned. "You're telling the truth," he said, sounding faintly surprised. He watched her closely. "No. I was right about the first part. You are blaming yourself, but you weren't distracted by the thought of our imaginary daughter." This seemed to disturb him. "You didn't give two minutes consideration to our hypothetical child," he said accusingly.

Lisbon blinked, taken aback. "Should I have?"

"It would have been perfectly natural. You are in your thirties. I'm sure the old biological clock is ticking away in there somewhere, however much you try to suppress it by burying yourself in work. After raising your brothers, I'm sure you thought you'd have a chance to raise your own kids someday. And you have a very nurturing nature. I'm certain you'd make an excellent mother." He paused. "Probably a bit over protective, though."

Despite the jab at the end and the part about the biological clock, Lisbon was flattered by his assessment. "Thank you."

"Which is why it bothers me that you don't seem to have considered what our child would be like, if we ever had one."

"But we're not going to have one," Lisbon said, not following his logic. "So why would I think about it?"

"Because that's what a normal woman who wants children of her own would do, if presented with an image of a child between herself and a man she is close to."

For the life of her, Lisbon couldn't figure out why he was pushing this. She crossed her arms over her chest, an action made somewhat awkward by the presence of that damn pink cast. "Fine. If it's so important to you, then by all means, let's talk about what our imaginary child would be like."

"Well, obviously, she would be quite good looking."

Lisbon laughed in spite of herself. "Obviously."

"It is obvious," Jane said indignantly. "You and I are both very attractive people. It stands to reason our child would inherit our looks."

"I'm sure she'd be cute as a button," Lisbon said indulgently.

Jane looked at her like she was crazy. "Cute? No. She would be dazzlingly beautiful. To the extent that I would probably become one of those fathers that starts carrying around a shotgun right around her fifteenth birthday, to frighten away any unsuitable, ah, suitors."

"What makes you so sure we'd have a girl?" Lisbon asked curiously.

He waved her hand at her vaguely. "Just a sense I have."

"I'd probably be better with boys," Lisbon mused. "What if she turned out all girly? I wouldn't have the first clue how to teach her about make up and shoe shopping or whatever it is mothers are supposed to do with their daughters."

"Don't be silly, you'd be fine. You'd teach her how to hold her own on any type of sports field known to man, which God knows I'd be no use at."

"So, what do you think she'd look like?" Lisbon said, curiosity getting the better of her.

"Curly hair, fair skin, blue green eyes," Jane said promptly.

Lisbon raised her eyebrows. "Blue green eyes? Seems more likely they'd be one or the other."

"No, I'm quite certain. Blue green."

"Because of this sense that you have?" Lisbon asked skeptically.

"Exactly."

Lisbon broke out into a slow smile. "Boy, nobody would ever be able to put one over on her. She'd be picking pockets and kicking ass by the time she was six."

"Yes, and she would have no patience for anyone who wasn't as smart as her," Jane agreed.

Lisbon shook her head. "We'd definitely have our hands full."

"Yes, we certainly would," he said softly, looking at her in a way that made her suddenly aware that this was an unusually intimate conversation for the two of them to be having. "So why hadn't you ever thought about it?"

"Jane, the whole idea is completely ludicrous."

"It most certainly is not. I convinced a respected educator that we were married and had a child in under five minutes, so clearly it's not completely unimaginable."

"The man was a murderer," Lisbon said incredulously. "You think this is a credible argument?"

"Lisbon," he said softly. "Why don't you believe you will ever be a mother?"

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him her thoughts about her reproductive future were none of his damn business, but the look in his eyes stopped her. There was something almost frightening in the intensity of his gaze, an expression she associated with his disturbing fixation on Red John. What that had to do with her, she wasn't sure, but she could see the answer to the question was important to him, and she didn't have the heart to deny him. "I guess I always thought I'd have kids one day," she admitted. "But I suppose I'm just resigned to the fact that if it hasn't happened by now, it might not happen at all."

"Don't say that," Jane said sharply. He seemed agitated. Which was odd. Jane never got agitated about anything.

She shrugged. "Why not? I might as well face facts. I'm not getting any younger and it's not like there are a lot of guys lined up knocking at my door to sign up for the job of father of the year."

"Don't be ridiculous," Jane scoffed. "Of course there are."

She raised her eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"Take the assistant DA, for one. Plus at least half the organized crime unit and a good dozen members of that interagency softball league you insist on participating in," Jane said disdainfully. "Not to mention pretty much any of those local police chiefs under fifty you smooth talk into letting you take over their crime scenes. And some of the ones over fifty as well, come to think of it." He sounded peeved, which was also odd.

"You're exaggerating."

"Oh, I am not. Any one of those men would be happy to knock on your door til the cows came home if you gave the slightest indication you wouldn't pop them in the kneecap just for asking."

God, was she really that unapproachable? She knew better than to voice this thought aloud, however. "Regardless of all these potential suitors you imagine I have pining over me, the fact remains that none of these guys have ever asked me out for one date, let alone confessed their undying love and desire to have babies with me," Lisbon said lightly. "Besides, what's it to you whether I have kids or not?"

Jane fidgeted. That was weird. Jane never fidgeted. Never did anything that would betray his composure. Lisbon realized this was the second time she'd had that thought that day. In fact, he'd been behaving oddly all night. The fact that he'd even engaged her on such a personal topic of conversation was evidence enough that something was going on with him. Even him inviting himself over for dinner now seemed strange in retrospect. They didn't normally spend time in each other's living spaces. They might sit around after closing a case and share a beer on one of their office couches, but for the most part, once they went home, they went their separate ways. Or at least, she went her separate way, and Jane either went to the attic or to that awful hotel he stayed at. She was starting to feel really alarmed when Jane answered her question, which she'd nearly forgotten in her mounting worry about his state of mind.

"You're a good person," Jane said finally. "You deserve a rich and full life. It distresses me that you've given up hope on having a family of your own, if that's what you really want."

"O-kaay," Lisbon said slowly, bewildered both by the turn of the conversation and the vehemence in his tone. "First of all, I haven't given up hope. I've just made peace with the possibility I might not have kids of my own. Second of all, what the hell about all of this has you so riled up? And what on earth does any of this have to do with whether or not I imagined you and I having a child together while you were trying to trick a murderer into revealing evidence?"

Jane scrubbed his hand over his face and didn't answer. "Why did you tackle Jacobson?" he asked abruptly.

Jesus, she was going to get whiplash from this conversation. "What do you mean?" she asked, puzzled.

"I mean, why, when a large and dangerous man had just broken your arm with a shovel, was your first instinct to fling yourself bodily at the man?"

"Well—he was going to hit us again," she said, unsure what he was driving at.

Jane nodded. "Right. Perhaps what I should have asked was why you let him hit you in the arm in the first place."

"I didn't *let* him hit me," Lisbon said, annoyed. "He was coming at me with the shovel, and I threw my arm up to protect myself. It was instinct. It was the only thing I could think of, because he was moving fast and I couldn't get my gun in time."

Jane was not satisfied. "You could have stepped back. You had time to react after he hit me, I saw you."

Now she was really pissed off. "The hell I did."

"You could have stepped back after he hit me, but you didn't," Jane repeated. "You stepped forward."

Lisbon froze. "What?"

"You could have gotten away, but you stepped towards him."

"He was going to hit you again," Lisbon said incredulously. "What was I supposed to do, just let him bash your brains in?"

A muscle in Jane's jaw tightened. "You're supposed to do what any rational being would do and protect yourself. Not allow a mad man to break your arm, and then, even though you were nearly sick from the pain, take it upon yourself to subject your body to even further abuse by slamming it into a man more than twice your size."

Lisbon sighed. "Jane, why are we arguing about this? You know I'd never stand by and let someone hurt you when there's something I could do to stop it, so why would this be any different? What's done is done, and if I had to go through it again, I'd do the same thing."

"That's exactly what bothers me," Jane snapped. "That your instinct is to sacrifice yourself at any sign of danger. It's not even a conscious decision! Protecting other people is so ingrained in your personality it doesn't even occur to you to think about the consequences before you act."

Lisbon felt her frustration mounting. "I can't believe you, of all people, are lecturing me about not thinking about the consequences before I act."

"Just do me a favor. Don't sacrifice yourself for me ever again." he said harshly. "I'm not worth it."

The bottom dropped out of Lisbon's stomach. If she let the full implication of what he'd said take hold of her, she was going to be sick, so she did the only thing she could think of. She stood up violently from the table, walked over to him, and hit him as hard as she could. His head snapped back as her fist met his jaw, but he made no noise of protest and did not raise a hand to defend himself. "Don't ever say that again," she said furiously. "Do you hear me? Never say that again. Don't even think it. I forbid it." She flexed the fingers of her hand and focused on the pain so she wouldn't have to think about what Jane had just said.

Jane took the fingers of her now bruised right hand and massaged them lightly with his own. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Lisbon said tightly. "Just promise me you'll never say anything like that again."

Jane looked away, but kept rubbing her sore hand with gentle fingers.

She tried again. "Jane, it's my job to protect you. And a lot of other people. Yes, sometimes it's dangerous, but I'm a good cop and most of the time nobody gets hurt."

"I have no problem with you protecting me," Jane interrupted. "I'm the first to call for help when I need it. What I have a problem with is you protecting me at your own expense."

"Look, do you want me to say I'll be more careful? Fine. I'll be more careful."

"That's not good enough!"

She stared at him. "Jane, what is going on?"

Jane turned her hand over in his and stared into her palm. "The thing I don't think you understand, Lisbon, is that you're very… important. Precious."

Precious? She stared at him, staring at her hand, and wondered if Jane was finally losing his mind entirely. "Jane…"

He looked up at her, and the look in his eyes was one she'd never seen before. He looked desperate, vulnerable, and it scared the crap out of her. "Lisbon, do you seriously imagine that I would be able to survive if something happened to you?"

The air left her lungs. "What?" she whispered, stunned.

"I already lost everything once, and it nearly destroyed me. It can hardly have escaped your notice that since my family died, you are the person I care about most in the world. Do you honestly believe I'd be able to survive losing you, as well?"

Lisbon was feeling pretty stupid, because actually, it had never occurred to her that Jane cared about her that much at all. She knew he cared about her to some extent, sure. They were friends, and had, together with the rest of the team, grown into a makeshift family. But somehow, those facts compiled together did not add up to the way he was looking at her right now. "This is why you've been acting all weird all day?"

"I haven't been acting weird."

"You've been jumpy and emotional. You're never emotional. And you fidgeted. Twice."

"Is it so hard to believe that I was worried about you?"

Yes. "It's just a broken arm," she said dismissively.

"And a concussion, and very nearly a crushed skull," he reminded her.

She tried to sound reassuring. "I'm fine, Jane."

"You need to live, Lisbon." His voice was harsh. "Despite all you've seen in your life, you still believe that the good guys will win and justice will prevail. I want you to have eight children who will grow up and believe the same things. But before you can have them, you need to dream of them."

Lisbon still wasn't seeing the connection. "Me dreaming of children will help me live?"

"You want children, but you don't let yourself think that you will ever have them. The fact that you don't even let yourself dream about those eight kids you want signifies a lack of regard for your own well-being that quite frankly terrifies me. Dreams tether us to life, Lisbon. They make us want to protect it at all costs. They make us not jump in front of crazy people with shovels because we're afraid of losing the possibility that they may someday come true."

"That's a bit rich, coming from you. Your dreams consist of what- revenge?"

"Among other things."

This threw her. "What other things?"

"Your eight children, for one."

Lisbon snorted. "Yeah, right."

He arched one brow. "Why can't you believe your future is important to me?"

She had no idea what to say to this. "But—Red John," she stuttered at last.

He smiled humorlessly. "Ah, yes. To answer the question you mean to ask, Lisbon, yes, I still maintain what you call my unhealthy obsession with Red John. I still plan to exact my revenge and I will not rest until we catch him. But much to my dismay, I have come to realize that there are, in fact, some sacrifices I am unwilling to make."

Once, she would have been relieved to hear these words from Jane. Now, this statement made her insides churn with dread. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I was scared today, Lisbon. I watched you step forward to protect me and it occurred to me that when we do catch Red John, you might try to do the same thing."

"I *might?*" echoed Lisbon. "*Of course* I'm going to protect you. How could you have ever thought that I'd let you face him without doing everything I can to make sure you are safe?"

"Lisbon, I need you to promise me you won't put yourself between Red John and me when the time comes."

"No," she said flatly. "I'm not promising that, Jane."

"I could make you do it, you know," Jane threatened. "I could hypnotize you into making that promise and keeping it."

"Nice try," Lisbon said, not impressed. "You told me no one can be hypnotized into doing something against their will."

"I'm not asking you to do it so I can kill him," Jane clarified. "Just- if only one of us can survive, it needs to be you."

"No deal," Lisbon said stubbornly. "We're in this together, Jane. We are going to catch Red John, I am going to arrest him, and both of us are going to live until we are old and gray. You can hate me the rest of your life, but I am not going to allow you to kill him, and I'm sure as hell not going to let him kill you."

"I should have known you'd never listen to reason," Jane muttered.

"What did you expect? Am I supposed to just give up on you? Hand you over to Red John and accept that catching him is the only thing your life has to offer?"

"That would be the smartest thing to do."

"Yeah, well, too bad I'm not as smart as you," she snapped. "Because I refuse to accept that the only thing your future holds is revenge. I know you can't see anything beyond Red John right now, Jane, but you can be so much more. You're so good at helping people, Jane. You catch killers and save lives, but you also see what people need. That's your most amazing talent. Not the ability to hypnotize or con but that ability to see so clearly what people need. And you…" Here, she faltered. "You could have love again, you know. Maybe not like what you had with your wife, but something good all the same. Maybe not soon, maybe not for years, but someday, you could meet someone and have little blue-green eyed children of your own. Your life is not going to end when we get Red John, Jane. I won't permit it."

He smiled wryly. "This is why I need you, Lisbon. That hope, that faith—I don't have that. What do you think would become of me if I didn't have anyone to hope such impossible things for me?"

"You are such a hypocrite, Jane. For someone who claims not to believe in psychics, you seem awfully certain about the future. I make one innocuous comment about not being sure whether I'll ever have kids and you're on my back about having a defeatist mindset, but you've given up entirely! Well, guess what, Jane, I'm *not* sure I'll have kids. I'm not sure things are going to work out with me and that assistant DA or whoever it is you imagine I'll be having those eight babies with. I'm not sure about what's going to happen in the months and years to come, Jane. No one is. At least I'm trying. At least I haven't as good as rolled over and played dead for Red John. That's what you've done, Jane. You already know that you dying would be a victory for him. Can't you see that you giving up on the rest of your life is just as much of a win for him?"

"What do you suggest? That I go around acting lovey dovey with everyone I meet all of a sudden? I might as well paint big red targets on their backs."

Lisbon wasn't in the mood for the familiar 'everyone close to me gets hurt' line. "You know what? I'm sick of you talking like you don't have it in you to hope. It may be easier to wallow in guilt and self-pity than to hope, but you have it in you. You're just too cowardly and lazy to try."

Jane raised his eyebrows. "I never claimed to be brave. That's always been more your department."

She wrenched her hand away from him, realizing only after she let go that she'd been squeezing it like a lifeline. She had never been madder at him in her whole life.

He raised his hands in surrender, as though fearful she was about to hit him again. Which, she admitted to herself, wasn't totally outside the realm of possibility. "Peace, woman. I take your point."

"Do you?"

"The problem is that contrary to what you might believe, Lisbon, I do have hope. I didn't want it, didn't ask for it, but I have it nonetheless. Not in the apparently boundless supply you seem to have, but I do have some. You've infected me with it. Like smallpox. I'm merely trying to make the point that if you died while throwing yourself willy nilly in the path of violent mad men in an effort to protect me, there wouldn't be anyone around to bully me into these fits of optimism." He touched his jaw where she'd hit him. "You are the only person I know who would literally try to beat the will to live into someone." He smiled at her. "All part of your charm."

Lisbon didn't smile back. "Promise me you won't give up, Jane. That you will do everything you can to stay alive when we catch Red John, and that you will try to rebuild your life once we do."

"Well, that isn't very fair, Lisbon. You refused to make one promise to me, and here you are asking me to make three to you."

Lisbon ignored him. "*Promise.*"

Jane got that calculating look in his eye she knew so well. "How about we make a deal?"

"What kind of deal?" Lisbon said warily.

"A promise for a promise." His voice was light. She recognized the tone as the one he used when he was about to con someone, or hypnotize them into bending to his will.

"What are the terms?" She probably shouldn't even consider making a deal with Jane without at least three lawyers present, but she figured he could probably outfox any lawyer she'd be able to afford, so what was the point? Might as well hear him out.

"I will promise you two things, Lisbon, if you agree to promise me two things."

She made an impatient gesture, signaling him to get on with it. "What things?"

He held up one finger. "First, I will promise to do everything I can to stay alive, if you will do the same."

"Including when we capture Red John?" Lisbon said suspiciously.

"Yes, including when we capture Red John."

Lisbon considered this. "What about after?"

"After?"

"Yes, after we capture Red John. I want your assurance that you won't just disappear into the CBI attic and pine away once you've fulfilled your mission for revenge. You can leave the CBI and go on a vision quest or something, if you like, but I don't want you thinking you have no reason to live once Red John is out of the picture."

"Pine away, Lisbon? A little dramatic, don't you think?"

She shrugged. "Those are my conditions. Take 'em or leave 'em."

He struggled to think of a way to avoid making any concessions outside of the scope of the original proposal, but Lisbon looked like she'd be willing to bend his arm back and force him to agree if she thought it necessary, so he ceded the point. "Very well. I'll look forward to that vision quest. Is this a journey you'll be joining me on?"

She rolled her eyes. "The whole point of a vision quest is to do it alone. That way you get in touch with your inner being or whatever and can find your purpose in life."

"What if the vision quest tells me to leave the CBI and take up professional golf?"

"Of course, I would be sad if you decided to leave, but if your future happiness is dependent on joining the pro circuit, I won't stand in your way," she replied smoothly.

She meant it, he realized with a frown. She'd really let him leave if she thought that's what he wanted. She really was infuriatingly unselfish at times. "Wouldn't you miss me?" he demanded.

A ghost of a smile graced her features. "I'd miss your close rate."

"What if the vision quest told me to marry some twenty three year old blonde and have a dozen children and raise them on a farm?"

"Then I'd be a proud honorary aunt to all twelve of them, and I'd expect you to keep me well supplied with fresh eggs for the rest of my life."

He watched her. "What if the vision quest told me the best use of my particular talents would be to stay with CBI and continue to catch murderers?"

"Then we'd be happy to have you," she replied, still annoyingly composed. "Now, are you going to keep quibbling about this, or are you going to tell me the second part of the promise you propose?"

He paused. "The second promise is this: I will make an effort to incorporate hope into my life as long as you're around to bully me into it, if you promise not to stop dreaming of having those eight babies some day."

"That's it?" Lisbon said, startled.

He smiled. "That's it."

She shook her head. "As long as I'm around? That gets you off the hook if something happens to me."

"Those are my conditions," he mimicked. "Take them or leave them."

"I'm going to put it into my will that I want Cho to nag you to lighten up if I die," she grumbled.

"Cho? Good luck with that."

She scowled. "Van Pelt, then."

That was alarming. Van Pelt could be doggedly optimistic when she wanted to be, and he had no doubt she'd be irritatingly persistent on the point if Lisbon ever made her wishes known to her. Still, it was probably the best he was going to get. "All right, the first two points have been settled, then. As for who protects whom from Red John…" he shrugged carelessly. "May the most determined person win."

She smirked. "Isn't the phrase, 'may the best person win?'"

"I'm afraid that criteria isn't terribly fair in this case. With those terms, the odds would be rather stacked in your favor, my dear. No, 'may the most determined person win' is much more appropriate under the circumstances."

Predictably, she blushed at his words. He looked at her with affection. He really did need to tech her how to take a compliment one of these days. "Fine," she said, lifting her chin. "Do we have a deal?"

She stuck out her hand to seal the deal with a handshake, but when he shook her hand, she didn't release him right away like he'd expected. "I want you to say the words," she said.

"What words?" Jane asked, feigning innocence.

"I want you to promise, out loud."

Jane squirmed inwardly. Damnable woman. She knew him too well. She knew he avoided making promises except in the most dire circumstances. As much as he was not above lying, cheating, or stealing, the one thing his conscience would not allow him to do was break a promise. Especially to her. If he didn't say it out loud, he was free to search for loopholes in the wording so he could interpret the agreement to suit his convenience. But the minute he let those words pass his lips, he'd be bound to honor it to the best of his ability. There didn't seem to be any way around it, however. "I promise," he said. His voice was low, and try as he might, he couldn't muster up a hint of irony in his tone. He really was losing it. Sincerity apparent in his voice? It was a slippery slope from that to actually meaning it when he told her he wouldn't trick or hypnotize people. "Now you," he demanded, to even the tables again.

She did not look away from his eyes. "I promise." Really, it was fortunate the woman was such an awful liar. If she had the ability to turn those green eyes with that heartrending expression on a person at will, no mortal, criminal or otherwise, and least of all him, would ever stand a chance of resisting her.

Then she smiled and his stomach gave an uncomfortable jolt. That was probably where he'd started to go wrong, he reflected. He should never have allowed his stomach to start jolting just because she smiled at him.

"So, may the most determined person win, eh?" she said with a grin, sitting back down at the table. "Awfully sure of yourself, aren't you?"

She felt light- lighter than she had all day. Lighter than she had felt in a long time. Jane had made a promise to her. 'Scout's honor,' 'I swear'- the words meant the same thing, but for some reason, the words 'I promise' had a power over him the others didn't, and he'd said them to her. She'd been taken in by his lies and tricks a thousand times, but she knew him, and she knew he wouldn't break a promise to her.

He smiled archly. "Yes, I am."

This did not faze Lisbon. They both returned their attention to their food with small smiles, each equally confident they would win that particular match of wills.

"So," Jane said after a moment. "What were you thinking about that had you so distracted?"

Lisbon opened her mouth to lie, but Jane raised his eyebrows and she knew he'd see right through it. He'd probably nag her half to death until she either told him the truth or he guessed it. Besides, it seemed silly to conceal the truth after they'd spent half the evening discussing their imaginary child. "I was thinking about holding your hand," she admitted.

"Really," Jane said with interest. "What about it?"

She shrugged, affecting a carelessness she didn't really feel. "That it was a nice day outside and that holding hands felt nice."

He looked at her measuringly. "Nothing else?"

"Just that I couldn't remember the last time I held hands with someone." She smiled ruefully. "And that I need to get out more."

"Well, don't despair, Lisbon. I'm sure that serpentine ADA would be happy to take you out whenever you'd like."

"Yeah, right."

"Not sure I'd recommend holding hands with him, though. Might be a little slimy."

"Thanks for the tip."

"I'm glad you were distracted by the handholding, Lisbon. That means you're living in the moment, appreciating the little things as they come. Besides, you need a little distracting now and then. It's good for you."

Lisbon's smile faded. "Yeah, well. If I hadn't been so distracted, maybe I would have seen the lunatic behind the tree and been able to do something about it before he attacked us."

"It really wasn't your fault, you know," Jane said. "What I said to Hightower was true. There was no way you could have anticipated Jacobson attacking us like that."

"If I hadn't been distracted—" Lisbon began.

"You still wouldn't have seen him," Jane cut her off. "I was watching the principal. He didn't telegraph Jacobson's location because he didn't know he was there waiting for us, either. And no one could have predicted anyone would do something as stupid as attacking two people with a shovel in broad daylight." He shook his head. "It's so moronic, it's almost diabolical. In any case, you couldn't have seen him. It was a big tree, and he was well concealed. I would have noticed if he hadn't been."

It was this last that finally made her shoulders relax with relief. That was true. Jane wouldn't have missed something like that. If he hadn't seen anything suspicious, there hadn't been anything to see, and her distraction was irrelevant.

"What did you mean when you told Hightower it was your fault, then?"

His eyes skated away from hers. "I should have realized after talking to the principal for two minutes that he'd never have been able to go through with a crime of that magnitude by himself. It should have occurred to me that he had an accomplice before the man leapt out at us behind a tree."

She laughed outright at this. "You think if you'd suspected he had an accomplice, you would have known he was waiting for us behind that tree?"

"Maybe not that particular tree," Jane said with dignity. "But I would have known we needed to be on our guard."

"You're always on your guard."

"Yes, well, it turns out I was a little distracted myself, and my guard wasn't as firmly in place as it should have been."

She looked at him curiously. "Distracted by what?"

He met her eyes. "By a little girl with blue-green eyes."

Ah, there was the blush he'd been waiting for.

After dinner, Lisbon walked Jane to the door.

"Thanks for—" she paused, uncertain what she was thanking him for. Dinner? Sitting by her bedside for hours at the hospital just to keep her company? Making her a promise that would make her sleep easier and had possibly caused some kind of seismic shift in their relationship? "You know, whatever," she said lamely.

"You're welcome."

"It was nice of you to bring over dinner," she persisted, feeling this was somehow not quite enough. Starting with the most tangible was easiest to define.

"Meh. Rigsby paid for it."

She laughed. "Another bet?"

"You'd think he'd learn, wouldn't you?"

"Well, anyway, I appreciate the gesture."

"I'm glad to hear you say that. Especially because I know you were considering throwing me out on my ear at the beginning of the evening."

"By this point I've learned that even if I do throw you out, you just keep coming back," she joked.

He smiled. "Like a bad penny."

She shifted on her feet. "Are you going to the hotel tonight? Or back to the CBI to sleep in the attic?" She hated thinking of him in that dismal hotel or holed up in that miserable attic on that awful slab he called a bed.

His answer surprised her. "I thought I might go for a walk. It's a lovely night for a stroll." He raised his eyebrows in that teasing way of his. "I don't suppose you'd care to join me?"

Lisbon was exhausted, and was hardly up for going out again after the day she'd had, but it was the fact that the image that came to her mind when he mentioned a midnight stroll was the two of them walking hand in hand in the moonlight that made her decline. She smiled weakly, deeply unsettled by the direction of her own thoughts. "Maybe another time."

"I'd like that."

The way he was looking at her was making her nervous. She had the horrible realization that she was feeling like they were at the end of a date that both parties are reluctant to see end. They were standing there by the door like idiots, talking awkwardly about nothing to delay the inevitable parting, just because neither of them really wanted the other to leave.

She panicked. "Well, good night!" she said with false brightness, hastily moving to the door and prepared to shove him out of it if that was what was necessary to stop herself from having these kinds of thoughts.

He caught her hand as she tried to move past him, forcing her to stop inches from him.

Great, she thought furiously. This was the last thing she wanted. Her heart beat frantically in her chest, like a wild bird trying to escape a locked cage. Bastard could probably feel her erratic pulse and would undoubtedly make the correct deductions about how he was affecting her. If he teased her for this, she was going to shoot him and hide his body under his own couch.

Mercifully, he didn't.

"Thanks for saving me from the psycho with the shovel," he said.

She relaxed slightly. This was safe ground. "You're welcome."

He hesitated, yet another thoroughly un-Jane like thing to do. "I'm glad you're all right."

Because it was there, she squeezed his hand. It seemed appropriate. "I'm glad you're all right, too."

"You're not mad at me for calling you precious, are you?"

She grimaced. Couldn't he have come up with some word less… delicate sounding? "I'm not mad."

"I'm glad you were distracted today."

"That makes one of us," she muttered.

"It pleases me that you enjoy holding hands with me."

She had no idea what to say to that, but perversely, his words made her want to yank her hand away from his. His fingers tightened over hers the moment the thought occurred to her, though, and she left her hand in his. "Hm," she grunted non-committally.

He looked down at their joined hands. "It does feel nice, doesn't it?"

"What?" Lisbon said, startled. She was equally unprepared to respond to this comment as to the previous one.

"Holding hands. It feels good."

Warmth suffused her insides as though she'd just swallowed a cup of rich, hot chocolate on a cold day, and something in her treacherous heart shifted at his words. His eyes were fixed on hers now and she met his gaze with wide eyes. There was sincerity there, but also a hint of a challenge. He probably expected her to lighten the moment with some kind of sarcastic remark in response to his declaration.

The hell with it. "Yeah, it does."

He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling at the edges in that way that made female suspects powerless to resist his interrogations and female witnesses ready to confess to something they didn't do, if only it gave them the chance to continue to be on the receiving end of his attentions. "We should do it again sometime."

Despite all that had been said that evening, of blue green eyes, hope, and determination, Lisbon knew that this was not a romantic request. Neither of them were in a place where what had passed between them added up to the sort of hearts and candy romance that a more romantic personality might be inclined to ascribe to the situation. Yet something had changed between them somewhere between the handholding and the shovel and now. They'd acknowledged the long unspoken attraction to one another, albeit indirectly. Oddly, rather than making things more awkward between them, the acknowledgment of its existence and the understanding that neither of them intended on acting on it at the moment made them more free, more easy with each other. Through some strange alchemy, it deepened the trust that had started out so tenuously and had somehow taken root in the uncharitable soil of their suspicious natures. They were closer than they had been before. More sure of one another.

She was surprised by his words, but she knew what they meant, and she thought she carried it off rather well. "Maybe next time we could do it without any shovels around," she said lightly.

His mouth quirked up at the sides. "You've got yourself a deal." Then, because apparently he wouldn't be Jane if he didn't continue to surprise her, he lifted her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her palm. She resisted the urge to shiver as something white hot moved up her arm and down to her toes at the touch of his lips. "Good night, Lisbon." He winked at her. "Sweet dreams."

"Good night," she stammered, off balance once again. Then he was gone and her whole arm was tingling for no reason. She was torn between thinking she should have hit him again for that and wishing she could get him back for wreaking havoc on her pulse by sinking her teeth into his lower lip.

Okay, so just because it was easier didn't mean it was easy.

She leaned against the door and rested her head against the frame. God, what a day. A shovel, a hospital, a broken arm, and a more emotionally fraught conversation than she normally would have allowed herself to be maneuvered into.

On the other hand, insufferable as he'd been at the hospital, Jane had done everything he could to be there for her when she was hurt, and they'd had an honest, though roundabout and far from comprehensive conversation about their feelings for one another. He'd made her a promise and he'd kissed her hand. She was relieved by the first, and unsettled by the second, but she had to admit the feeling hadn't been unpleasant. Frightening as hell, yes, that Jane could evoke those kinds of feelings in her, but not unpleasant. They clearly had some issues they still needed to work out between the two of them, but they'd held hands, and they were closer.

In the end, she supposed, it hadn't been such a bad day after all.


End file.
